Writing With My Mouth Full

Day 3: Hiking to Cerro Torre

After hauling aSs down from Camp Poincenot yesterday, G’s foot started to hurt; he opted out of today’s hike. The three of us start our longest hike this week via the path behind the Cerro Torre Hotel in El Chalten. We feel more energized after yesterday’s shower and last night’s sleep on real beds. I am ready to take it easy with just a day pack even though the hike is longer than the others.

After an unmarked steep hill, we hike through a forest. The trees are dry and sharp, like from a Tim Burton movie. The earth itself is very thin and dusty. The ranger the other day told us that this hike is where you can view Cerro Torre and Monte Fitz Roy together, but it’s not worth doing if visibility is zero. A lot of people hike El Chalten and miss the chance to see them at once because of the finicky weather, but it’s looking like we will be very lucky today. I hold my breath.

The hike takes forever and the landscape change from forest to uphills to dry marsh to another forest and then to large rocks. There are a lot of yellow flowers low on the ground which is what I pretty much imagined seeing before getting here. We pass by a swamp with thorny trees before we start walking along the Rio Fitz Roy. Cerro Torre shows itself early and I’m delighted that, although there is a watercolor-like smear of white above it, everything else looks clear blue. We take a turn towards the viewpoint and Monte Fitz Roy also says hello.

So this is what the ranger and the others before us have been talking about. I notice that there is more snow on the Cerro Torre side than on Fitz Roy’s. As soon as we go through the flat plains, the wind immediately picks up and the three of us put on our jackets. It’s like being in a wind tunnel: you push an invisible force forward without looking at where you’re going and you try to block your face from being completely blown away. The gravel makes it even harder to ascend up the hill that reveals Lago Torre.

But oh, as soon as I get to the top, it’s like being transported to a different land; a different country. The wind is howling and there is a heavy feeling about it. It looks like something scary is about to happen, as if there was already a story before time began. I notice right away that Cerro Torre is thinner, spikier and angrier than Monte Fitz Roy. The tips of each spire has a mushroom cap of ice because of the Pacific storms that blow from the Patagonian Ice Cap.

In 1959, Cesare Maestri and Toni Egger supposedly reached the summit, but inconsistencies in Maestri’s account made other climbers doubtful. Egger died in an avalanche during that attempt, and the second tallest spire was named after him, but it left Maestri’s account unverified. In 2005, a confirmed route was put up on the face that Maestri claimed to have climbed by Ermanno Salvaterra, Alessandro Beltrami and Rolando Garibotti. It was only a year ago, in January 2008, when the same Garibotti, with American Colin Haley, climbed Aguja Standhardt, Punta Herron, Torre Egger and Cerro Torre together, accomplishing the first complete traverse of the entire massif with a 7,200-feet total vertical gain.

I feel like a wimp again as we go down the path and to the safe confines of Camp D’Agostini just below it. I try to imagine those who have climbed Cerro Torre to give the sport a good name and people like me a glimpse of the impossible becoming possible. We settle and eat our last camp-style lunch before we begin to head back down to El Chalten.

On the way back, I get to enjoy the view I missed on the way. The river doesn’t look so rapid from this far away and everything around me looks more like the Swiss Alps than Patagonia. I pause after I say this to the Dr. and add, What I imagine Switzerland to look like anyway, because I’ve never been there. Funnily enough, our friend commented of our last trail during dinner: That looked like the time I was in Switzerland.

All that eerie feeling is replace by the Sound of Music. All of a sudden, there are white blossoms and Alpine-style cabins. The starkness of Cerro Torre that’s in my head becomes more manageable and transforms into a panoramic photograph featured on calendars. I can’t say that I like it better, but it certainly makes the end of our Chalten hike more pleasant.

Day 3 itinerary:

Day 2: Hiking to Lago de los Tres and Laco Sucia

It was a very cold night on Camp Poincenot. Our sleeping bags were warm but the Dr. had a restless sleep, wearing almost everything he’d pack to keep extra warm. I was okay in a long-sleeved Capilene and underpants until around 3am when I felt a cold breeze coming from the side of our tent. I had the chills and squirmed inside my sleeping bag to put extra layers on. It was my first time to camp in the woods, and though I liked the process of the whole thing, I can’t say sleeping in a bag so close to the ground is my favorite thing.

Today I wake up first to boil some water and get the coffee ready. I know the boys will need it especially if I want them to be good sports about the vertical hike that’s to come. I send them to the river where it’s warmer to collect some water to drink so they can stretch while waiting for the congee to cook. Here in Patagonia, water from running rivers is potable. We were apprehensive at first, but because everyone else was doing it, we joined in. We never had to use our $50 purification system after all.

From the camp, we begin our hike to Lago de los Tres with only our day packs. We hike through another forest and continue to go up for the next hour and a half. From the highest viewpoints, we see several lakes and never-ending trees. I imagine how white everything would be if it isn’t summer. I remember from the other day when the ranger told us that this hike is easy because of the stairs. There are stairs all right, but they are steep and they keep going up. The sun is out in full force though, and I am only wearing a tank top to keep myself cool.

The path starts to transform into gravel and crushed soil, almost like sand. You sink whenever you take a step, but I know a closer look at Monte Fitz Roy is just ahead. When I walk over the last hill, the last hurdle to the finish line, I gasp because I did not expect to see what’s immediately in front of me: the greenest of the green with the bluest of the blue water, surrounded by boulders spotted with fresh white snow. I want to cry.

At this close proximity, I acknowledge the entirety of the Fitz Roy range. Starting from Fitz Roy’s 12,300 feet going to my left is Poincenot, also our camp’s namesake, at about 9,850; Aguja Raphael at about 8,100; Aguja Saint-Exupéry at about 8,400; and Aguja de la S, aka Aguja Innominata, at about 7,600. The three granite agujas, or needles, are the “tres” in the name Lago de los Tres, or Lake of the Three.

In 1952, the French alpinist Jacques Poincenot fell in the river and died during a trip to conquer Fitz Roy. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, of Le Petit Prince fame, delivered mail to Patagonia via the French airline Aerospostale from 1929 to 1932. His co-pilots are honored with the two summits north of Fitz Roy: Aguja (Jean) Mermoz and Aguja (Henri) Guillaumet.

The entire thing is more majestic and spectacular this close. Of course, a cloud is swirling around the spires, but even with the wind, it’s calm and it’s giving me that feeling that everything around me is older than time. I realize that this earth is truly a place one can’t stop appreciating because at every other turn, it will leave you in awe.

I see people closer to the water and leave my group to walk down. It’s the wrong and dangerous choice because on every step, a few rocks loosen behind me and roll. It’s too late to stop and walk back up; I am on my aSs just trying to slide down gingerly. When I get to the bottom, I lie on a big rock and look up the blue sky. Upside-down, I can see more people now and they’re all sitting at where I was before. Everyone is speechless and staring at the Fitz Roy range. I bask under the sun and get my raccoon tan.

After a few minutes, I decide to walk the opposite way and see what else is around. I see a spike with a yellow tip and realize it’s a trail marker from where we entered. It’s the path I should have taken instead of blazing down the rocks. At least now I know how to safely go back up. I’m alone when I make the next hill over and while I’m thinking that that was the best viewpoint yet, I come across a danger sign to warn me that the trail stops there. I take a couple of steps down and follow the sound of a waterfall. It’s a small trickle, but the sound echoes loud enough as if I was in a cathedral. I laugh to myself as soon as I discover where the water was going. All I can think of is, Where the hell am I?

I unfold my map and realize that I am right above Lago Sucia. Even though the name means “dirty”, there is nothing dirty about the water except for the fact that it has a deeper hue than Lago de los Tres. It’s even more still here because it’s surrounded by Cerro Techado Negro, the range that climbers must pass through to camp on Glaciar Rio Blanco before they attempt an ascend.

I reunite with the group again and I encourage them to take the short trail down to Sucia. I wait for them behind a large rock and borrow a pair of binoculars from two other hikers who were pointing towards Fitz Roy: there are at least four ant-sized people on the snow going up. I imagine what they must be feeling now. I send them good vibes and hope they make it as high as they want to go.

On the way down, we run into more people going up. We don’t recognize them from camp so we assume they have come all the way from El Chalten to do the whole trail as a day trip. Alas, there are people who are stronger than I am. I tread carefully and take care of my left knee. Miraculously, it hasn’t hurt and I am determined to keep it that way.

Back at Camp Poincenot, we all agree to pack up and go back down to El Chalten to escape another chilly night in our tents. We use the other route down via Lago Capri and watch families with children set up picnics by the water. I feel like a wimp for hiking with so much weight only to stay for one night, but the temptation of having a sit-down dinner with a bottle of Malbec is too hard to resist; not to mention a hot shower and a working toilet.

Day 2 itinerary:

Day 1: Hiking from El Chalten to Monte Fitz Roy

I am excited but at the same time nervous. I’m geared up and waiting for the rest of my group outside Rancho Grande Hostel to begin our first day of hiking. Today’s plan is to hike along Chorillo del Salto and get our first glimpse of Monte Fitz Roy, one of the two that tower over El Chalten in this part of Argentina’s Patagonia. I am carrying about thirty pounds worth of clothes, my sleeping bag and our toiletries, while the Dr. is carrying our tent with his own gear. We’ve split our provisions between us, but I still made sure he carried the heavier jjajang tuna cans.

Yesterday, I was antsy during the five-hour drive from El Calafate to El Chalten. When I started to see Glacier Viedma up front, the largest glacier on the eastern slopes of the Andes, I turned to see if my companions were awake. My heart thumped: I made it! I made it to Patagonia! Rain flecked my window and I thought, Rain all you want now but please, please stop for the next five days. I am reminded that the name Chalten comes from a Tehuelche word meaning “smoking mountain”, due to a cloud that usually forms in the top.

We all stopped by the National Parks office to get an introduction and to listen to the rules of the park before the bus dropped us off at Rancho Grande where we had reservations for four bunk beds. Our humble room will be one of the many reminders of our hike in the Spanish Pyrenees back in 2006. It’s the beginning of peak season and we were surrounded by people who were also ready to hike: tall backpacks leaned against the walls and boots stacked up by the main door. Some of them we’ll encounter again on the trail and all of them we’ll share this Patagonian experience with.

We start walking towards the yellow house at the end of the road. The sun is striking at 10am and there is barely a cloud in the sky. I quietly hope that it stays that way. Here in Santa Cruz, Argentina, the weather is finicky and unpredictable. From reading Greg Crouch’s Enduring Patagonia before I left New York City, I learned that the wind will be our enemy. We start slow and up; my shoulders getting used to the weight on my back. I’m bundled up, but I’m hot and I know if I remove my fleece, I’d have to put it back on again when I turn the next corner. The trail is well-marked but rough. The soil is very dry and padded with small rocks and I can’t stop to take photographs of the dots of yellow and purple flowers along the way because there are others behind me.

We reach our first viewpoint where we could see the swirls of the Chorillo River. At last, rest. I’m surprised at how green everything is. I imagined tumbleweeds rolling along the flat plains while the wind whistled in the background. It hasn’t been an hour yet and Patagonia is already throwing surprises at me. We mostly hike narrow paths through the forest until the trail finally opens up where we walk on cliffs and then onto flat land with small ponds.

All of a sudden, there it is: Monte Fitz Roy and its ever-recognizable shape. I know because I’ve spent five months planning this trip for the group and I have seen numerous photos of its grandeur and glory. Right now, I can’t believe I’m finally looking at it in person. Its name was bestowed by explorer Perito Moreno after the Beagle’s captain, Robert Fitzroy, who sailed the area around 1834. Even though it’s not even half the height of the Himalayas, its granite makes climbing it harder even for the most experienced. More than a hundred people summit Mount Everest a day, but only one successfully ascends Monte Fitz Roy a year.

Everyone is taking photos and it takes a few tries and more energy than I can muster to jump for one of my Cia photos. I haven’t worn my sweater in the last hour and I already have a criss-cross tan below my neck. I want to stay and savor the view even though I know there will be more.

At Camp Poincenot, we pick a spot where the boys set up our two tents. We stretch and get used to our backs without all the weight and we eat our first energy bars for lunch. Because it was the middle of the afternoon, we decide to take a quick walk to see Lago Piedras Blancas where the glacier truly looks like flowing water frozen in time. It’s a much easier hike without our packs, but not less rewarding.

Back in camp, we begin to unwind and rest for the night–just in time when that swish of a cloud around Fitz Roy start to look like it’s going to make its way down. The clouds are more gray and we feel some rain coming. We are all surprised that the hike up here took less than four hours, but while we cook and eat our first meal of vegetable Jambalaya, miso soup and Korean tuna, we know that it was enough for today.

Day 1 itinerary:

Curry-Ya

214 East 10th Street between First and Second Avenues
866/602-8779
about $25 for two, with drinks, without tip
♥

Yohshoku, or Western dishes adapted to fit the Japanese taste, kept me alive when I was younger and wasn’t making a lot of or any money. In West L.A., I loved Curry House because I could get a hefty lunch for $5. When I was in Tokyo, I ate a lot of gyuudon and tonkatsu (beef bowls and deep-fried pork cutlets) because they were the most affordable for us kids with a tight budget. Believe it or not, back then I spent my money on design books instead of food.

So when Curry-Ya opened last year, I was excited to go even for the sake of reliving those days. True to form, my kareh raisu, the Japanese-style curry so far removed from its inspiration, tasted like how I remember them: rich, gooey, salty, and just super tasty. Unfortunately, I’m older now and I paid a higher price digesting it afterwards.

I still appreciate good design and Curry-Ya has that style I would like to adapt if ever I opened my own restaurant: marble bar, less than twenty stools up against it, open kitchen. I’m not any younger, but I’m back to having less money because of this economy and I can see more Curry-Ya in my future.

Where to eat in Jersey City, New Jersey: Dosa Hut

My first exposure to dosas was from Hampton Chutney and, I must admit, wasn’t the most authentic. I still like eating at Hampton Chutney once in a while even though they’re overpriced and I’ve since searched for good, and less expensive, dosas in the city. Shit, I’ve even spent several hours trying to make a Nepalese version at home.

My parents and I met up with Honey and Paolo in Jersey City to check out a Filipino man in the suburbs who apparently can give you the same diagnosis as a chiropractor and help you as much as a physical therapist can. My father has always complained of lower back problems; my mother almost broke her hip and wrist when she fell off a ladder; I still have a busted left knee from hiking the Pyrenees. He didn’t accept any kind of payment–though we ended up buying tocino and longanisa from the wife who makes them at home–so we didn’t see any harm in visiting him.

An hour later, we were famished. Honey drove us to Dosa Hut for lunch where I introduced my parents to vegetarian meals that actually made them full. My parents, always hard to please, refer to all kinds of South Asian food as “Bombay”. They’ve never seen a dosa before and wouldn’t be able to tell one curry from the next. So when I ordered, I asked the lady behind the counter what made their “special dosa” special. It contained cabbage, green bell peppers and onions and was fit for two people. The flavor wasn’t as special as the classic dosa however, stuffed with cheese and parsley. It didn’t seem much at first, but it was deliciously light yet still filling. The crepe itself was crisp and the different chutneys gave my folks a good education about dips outside of the usual Filipino soy sauce and vinegar.

Oh, my left knee has been okay since that visit.

Dosa Hut is at 777 Newark Avenue in Jersey City, New Jersey and is all vegetarian. You can call them at 201/420.6660.